<i> My name is Ozymandias, King of kings. Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair&#8230; </i> Cold grey buildings rise against the bleak sky of New Berlin. Night is falling, quietly, subtly, and like a knife pierces the heart of Rhineland. Cold and dead. That is the Imperium, its very heart. It is heated only by the frozen flame of its guns and the deathly heat radiating from its Warships. The warmth, the passion of the Bohemian Renaissance, was like a candle flickering in the wind. The sea will wash all this world away.&#8230;extinguished. So delicate, so <i>fragile </i>&#8230;passing into shadow, into dust. And this? This is no different. A bloated beast, a sick tyranny, a fundamental order in its operations that will be the death of it. The Imperium is a shadow blowing in the wind&#8230;a clockwork empire. by the slow decay of time, the inevitable winding down of its clock. These monsters of steel? These deathly cold buildings, rising up bleak and overpowering against a snowy sky that has never seen the light of the sun nor the purity of the rain? Impressive, surely. But they will crumble into dust, already it is happening. It is all like a child&#8217;s dream, a drunk&#8217;s fantasy. And what will come after&#8230;.? Good, perhaps. Or evil. But what are those? Only words we have to accomplish our shallow goals. What truth is left in humanity? One solitary Wyrm streaks and slithers across the ever-darkening sky&#8230; Only one thing is certain: by its own sword, the Imperium will die. <b><i>Arahar, Vienna </b> </i> &#8220;RIF Delta leader, my man is down!&#8221; &#8220;They&#8217;ll pay for that&#8230;&#8221; &#8220;My shields are down! Losing integrity!&#8221; &#8220;Holy ****!&#8221; &#8220;RIF Alpha 2, get this guy off me!&#8221; &#8220;I&#8217;m hit!!&#8221; &#8220;I don&#8217;t want to die&#8230;I don&#8217;t want to die&#8230;GODDAM&#8212;&#8220; The rebellion&#8217;s snake-like fighters streaked across the sky that day, spewing forth golden jets of light at the waiting Imperial fleet. Even the Warship Fenris was destroyed, conquered in the end by the Dragonlord Jihachir, jewel of the Alliance fleet. The green flame of Rheinland now shudders in the shadow of inevitability. The Rebellion&#8217;s fleet had flown out of the black nebula known to those who live on Arahar as Wolf. The cloud lies to the north of the planet, foreboding and bleak, and covers nearly the entire system along with its sister, Bavaria. Out of it soared first the elite fighters of the rebellion, the Wyrm. Slowly slithering across the blackened sky, snaking through the defence perimeters of the Imperium and striking a deep blow into the heart of the waiting Austria fleet. Their hard and shieldless armour turned away all the weapons of the Rheinlanders as the Wyrms danced through the fleet&#8217;s defences, pounding their fighter defence to dust and piercing into the heart of their cruisers. The Dragonlords Jihachir and Uther flew out of the field, melting away the remainders of the fleet even as those upon the Fenris attempted to gather their wits about them. Vienna&#8217;s dark sky and black cloud set the stage for the first pounding of the hammer of Fate. __________________ <i><b> I dream of fire&#8230;Those dreams that tie two hearts that will never die And near the flames, the shadows play&#8230; in the shape of a man&#8217;s desire. </i> </b> Why do they endlessly play with shadow, toying with their own greed until their souls rot away and they themselves fall into shadow and dust? <i>It is their natural drive&#8230;to create, to aimlessly play. But it is not all bad. </i> No? Name one who has not perverted himself, who has upheld the gifts of his race and transcended its faults? <i>During the Renaissance, there were many&#8212; </i> Who thought the age of the Bohemians would last forever, who indulged in youthful pleasure and aestheticism, who wondered idly at the beauty of humanity. And not one who realized the truth. Moral? Passionate? Surely. But there was not one who lived up to your name as your child. <i>The fire of humanity lives on. </i> You have too much faith in flames. They die out, you know. <i>Because a flame is in truth the essence of humanity&#8230;the essence that you and I make up. </i> When will the song end? <i> It never ends. It is only that which is permanent&#8212;besides you and I, of course. As long as we are conscious, the song continues, the dream revolving in its depths&#8230; </i> And none awake from it. Edited by - Wilde on 2/4/2005 6:07:18 PM

<i><b>Perhaps this final act was meant to clinch a lifetime&#8217;s argument That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could For all those born beneath an angry star&#8230; Lest we forget how fragile we are </i> </b> <i>They are so delicate&#8230;like flowers, floating on a breeze&#8230; Gaze at them, around them, through them&#8230;caught in this debauchery, this baseness. Cruelty and death rises up from the Clockwork Empire, suffocating even the Heavens in their greed and hate. This is the evil of humanity. One is told all things have a black side that touches upon and threatens to overthrow the lighter side&#8230;after the Renaissance, it was almost impossible to believe that existed. It is so hard to accept I was wrong, but only one glance at the horror of the Imperium proves me so. And what is the rebellion? Perhaps fighting for a better life, a better world, fighting to destroy the cruelty and perversion that stalks the streets and in turn perverting themselves&#8230; They are so much like children, so young. Look how they play with toys of destruction&#8212;that August day in the desert&#8230;&#8212;and no one&#8230;no one arises with enough wisdom to reveal the destruction they will cause. Mindlessly they fight, kill, maim to survive in a pointless and brutal struggle. Is there no one who will put down her arms to merely speak to her combatants? No man who realizes all that comes of the fighting is a perversion of his own morality, a rotting of the spirit of humanity? </i> But the cries of Wisdom only echo throughout the stony corners of the galaxy; unheard by the Imperium and unheeded by the Rebels. __________________________________________________ In the week following the Rebellion&#8217;s victory, the shadow of the Rheinland Imperium suffered a hearty blow. The clockwork empire is winding down&#8230;the candle shudders in the winds of Impermanence. Snake-like fighters swarmed the airs and skies around Bautzen and Leipzig, which so recently had been taken from Rheinland control. Waves of the Rebel Dragonlords formed an impenetrable blockade in the Stuttgart system, slowly purifying it of all Imperium forces. Wyrms and Vipers danced throughout the snow-filled clouds of Holstein, a planet that would soon fall into the hands of the Rebellion&#8230; <i>And with every bomb that falls, every laser that is fired, each man kills himself. </i> <b>Holstein, Frankfurt </b> Dragonbirds, the Heavy Fighters of the Alliance, and Vipers, the standard, soar slowly throughout the icy sky of the planet. The bombs have ceased. Holstein is defenceless, cut off from the outside world, a nearly dead planet. The only beings that show their faces are the ageless white falcons, often seen soaring among the Wyrms of the Alliance. The final strike is to commence... As the first Viper soars through the atmosphere and dips down on a sharp turn to drop its load of missiles on the last remaining Imperium base on the planet, ten wings of Valkyries uncloak over the planet followed by the Warship <i>Alberich </i>. Firing jets of flaming lava upon the Dragonlord <i>Chechnya </i> as it lies in orbit above the planet, the Rhineland ships swarm throughout the sky above Holstein, shooting down the lone Dragonbirds flying around the planet. The hull of the <i>Chechnya </i> shudders as it shields fail&#8212;and yet it makes no movement and nor does it fire upon. As more and more Rhineland ships amass in the area and fire their weapons into its hull, it gives off one great shudder and then explodes in a brilliant and fiery flash of pure white. Seconds before the explosives upon the great beast of the Alliance swallowed them alive, burning their bodies and minds within nanoseconds, perhaps those upon the <i>Alberich </i> wondered if it was a trap set up by the Rebellion, if the Dragonlord was not dysfunctional but rather completely abandoned&#8230; Of the mess, only three wings of Valkyries and the Cruisers <i>Lucifer </i> and <i>Seigmund </i> remain. Disheartened but not yet destroyed, the remaining Imperium ships proceed towards the docking ring, preparing to assault the fighter force upon Holstein. A slight shimmer dances around the docking ring&#8230; Five wings of Wyrms uncloak and fire pure golden light upon the attacking Imperium ships as the ships in the Charge of the Light fleet advance upon the decimated Rhineland force. A series of explosions splits the sky&#8230;and then fades into black. Now the Ocean pounds away at the shore&#8230;the sands of Impermanence threaten to cover the ever crumbling Empire. The flame that once thought itself invulnerable is doused by the inevitable rainfall. Edited by - Wilde on 2/9/2005 3:34:07 PM

If IÂ´m a piggy - oink! <img src=smilies/icon_smile_wink.gif width=15 height=15 border=0 align=middle> Honestly, it reads like a poem. And if this is whatÂ´s meant, itÂ´s great! ItÂ´s pure narrative for now though, and no central character(s) are explored yet. So IÂ´m looking forwards to reading more and filling in the gaps. <img src=smilies/icon_smile.gif width=15 height=15 border=0 align=middle> When is the story set? Maybe I missed that in a coffee-fuelled craze..

Oi.... thats my gaming clan :O Anyhoo i like it but seeing some centeral chars would be a treat.... mm treat im getting food ___________________ &quot;Anyone who suffers at a injustice is already a comrade of mine&quot; Che Guevara

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_______________ i dont suffer fools gladly , in fact i dont suffer them at all

thanks for the comments <img src=smilies/icon_smile.gif width=15 height=15 border=0 align=middle> I was actually planning to keep characters out of it--my other fanfic, Ender of Ages, being entirely focused on one single character. But IÂ´ll take the suggestions into account. As for the setting, itÂ´s supposed to be suggestive that it takes place a (half) century after the story in Freelancer--or at least enough time for an entire epoch to pass and for a despotism to overtake Rhienland space.

I know it&#8217;s been a while, but I&#8217;ve been busy with an arseload of homework. I&#8217;m taking people&#8217;s suggestions here and adding in a few central characters instead of carrying on in this impersonal narrative. As has been said several times, the story is confusing. So to help you piggies understand what I&#8217;m getting at (<img src=smilies/icon_smile_tongue.gif width=15 height=15 border=0 align=middle>) I&#8217;ve put together a background: 1. Events take place a century or so after the events in the game Freelancer. Two epochs are described: The Bohemian Renaissance (the name in itself should give away everything that involves), and a despotism occurring in Rhineland called the Imperium. 2. The narrative is told from an anthropomorphization (yes, I know its weird) of the essences of Impermanence and Wisdom&#8212;one an underlying law of reality and the other the ultimate epitome of life for humanity. 3. Most of these ideas come from Hellenistic, Classical and Eastern (more specifically Buddhist) philosophy And now&#8230;the story, told from the view of one single character: This particular peace is influenced strongly by Classical Greek ideas of beauty and love, and of course the actual Bohemian revival of those ideals at the end of the 19th century CE.

<i>Welcome down&#8230;.to my Planet Hell </i> The New Berlin sky is dark now, a deep midnight blue. I can begin to see the stars, winking at me from a place so close to my fingers and just out of reach. Bright lights&#8230;far removed from the Hell planet. I stretch back on the beach, snow dunes around me. New Berlin&#8217;s Night slowly&#8230;almost imperceptibly&#8230;grows colder. An almost piercing wind blows across the Ocean of Sighs, water stinging my bare chest, blowing strands of my long hair across my face. Sitting up again, I gaze around me&#8212;at the wild, thrashing sea, the chaotic wind, deep black sky and its peaceful stars that sing the joy and sorrow of the world, gazing down here at the physical heart of the Rhineland Imperium. I am Damien Solkovsky. My family has roots deep inside the history of Rhineland&#8212;one of the first on the mighty colony ship&#8212;despite, as my father has told me, our original ancestors were Russian. Something about Soviet citizens escaping over the Berlin Wall, three centuries before the Sol War. Escaping from a cruel and tyrannical government into the heart of a capitalist society that called itself free. Perhaps that government was like the Imperium, expanding and conquering, torturing and enslaving. Perhaps West Germany is like the government before the Renaissance, cold and impoverished and still trying to hold on to a brief and dying ideology of <i>freedom </i>&#8230;All life is a circle, a wheel spinning around and around in a never ending cycle of passion and love, tragedy and cruelty&#8230;the inevitable struggle of wisdom against greed and man against nature. Like the Ocean of Sighs. Each water drop washes up on the shore, is claimed by its brothers, floats down to the sea and is brought in a surge of waves back to the sand&#8230;and all the while the sea washes away at the shore, breaking at its sand. I star up at the stars, gazing at the ocean of light that washes my eyes pure and teases my spirits. I long to rise up there, to spend an eternity in the skies above. The song is so pure, so beautiful&#8230;so wondrous&#8230;. My eyes close in meditation. I sit on my knees, gazing at the stars, feeling myself plunge into the totality of the Real. The song plays about my ears, growing stronger and more pure. There is no tune, no notes, merely the beauty of the music. I am at peace, my soul is washed away with the Sighs. The song which has been playing about my ears grows stronger&#8230;and suddenly I am engulfed in the fiery passion of the song, plunging into it and feeling it envelope me. I gaze in awe at the Numinous forming around me&#8230; I feel a hand on my shoulder and slip back into the dream, out of the beauty of the Absolute. Not quite all the way into the dream. There is a spirit of peace and tranquility that still dances throughout my mind. The strong arm and beautiful face of Nikolai, my friend from the School, comes into view. &#8220;I&#8217;m not interrupting you, am I?&#8221; I smile and shake my head. &#8220;I was just starting.&#8221; His face is illuminated by the brilliant starlight, shining ever more beautifully as the moon reflects off one million panes of watery glass. He relaxes on me, gazing up at the stars as I lie back and do the same. Nikolai and I are both Bohemians, living far outside the reach of the Imperium in one of the last vestiges of the Renaissance: <i>L&#8217;ecole des Artistes du Sang </i>, buried beneath the ice caves here by the Sighs. We grew up here in this shining haven, an oasis of peace in the midst of an ocean of Hell. We both witnessed first hand the punishing cruelty of the tyranny that controls Rhineland and the bloodthirsty Alliance warriors slaughtering their enemies in turn. Wyrms flicker across the sky, closer to the ground than normal, warily searching for Imperium soldiers. Weeks ago, before even the assault on Arahar, the Alliance located the School and promised us a guard of 3 wings of Wyrm fighters in return for allowing them to use it as a springboard into the capital city of the Imperium. Unwillingly, the Master consented. Now we have the bloodthirsty fighters of the Rebellion sitting at our tables, eating our food&#8230;an action I would rather never had happened. Despite the ideology they so bravely fight for, their souls are stained with the blood of the men they have killed. Nikolai and I are both strong and young, indulging in the passions of youth with the women here at the School, even with each other. Like all Bohemians, our foreheads, necks, and chests are decorated with self-made tattoos, a symbol of our intercourse with beauty and passion. A snake with burning eyes slithers across my chest, crescents of black ink painted around it. &#8220;One of the fighters handed me a blaster today. He asked if I would fight.&#8221; He turns towards me, face lit in laughter. I join him. It is truly laughable to present even the idea of bloodshed to a Bohemian, especially a Blood Artist. &#8220;I don&#8217;t know&#8230;I&#8217;m not exactly safe with people that stupid guarding the School.&#8221; &#8220;Do you oppose the war?&#8221; &#8220;To quote Terence, <i>nihil humanum me alienum puto </i>. It is only human to oppose the oppressors&#8212;but nevertheless it is wrong to take another&#8217;s life.&#8221; &#8220;Why? The other man would have killed you in a war&#8230;&#8221; &#8220;But the other man would give his soul to harm another loving and thinking organism. I could never bring myself to do that.&#8221; &#8220;It is only natural to fight for survival.&#8221; &#8220;Natural, for an animal. I, at least, am human. You are too, behind the cold cynicism.&#8221; He laughs at the comment. &#8220;I&#8217;m not a cynic&#8230;I just like arguing.&#8221; His smile is like a light in the darkness. We relax and stretch back on the beach. &#8220;I can see why they fight the Imperium, though. Perhaps against the tyrant the path Che chose is the only one worth walking.&#8221; A wave slides onto the icy shore, sweeping over the beach, and a sad violin sings in the distance. Edited by - Wilde on 2/23/2005 12:49:45 PM

Wow wilde. ItÂ´s good. But this story is very, very heavy and it comes across as very dark. Maybe one of the reasonÂ´s why you have had little feedback on this is because of the style. You grammar and punctualilty are far beyond your age years and i commend you for that. Keep it up Wilde, but remember, your writing is adult themed and you have a unique writing style. This may not appeal to everyone.

That would be a good idea if you want a larger readership. I havenÂ´t read this fic specifically because I donÂ´t often enjoy tales of tragedy and sorrow. Of course, that isnÂ´t to say you must only write what others want to read. Write whatever you like. Just donÂ´t be surprised if some story styles attract a greater audience.

Like wilde i cant write anything happy, if people ever end up reading a fanfic i have yet to publish..... But wildes work is awesome and sometimes i cant stand happy tales EDIT: im a retard.... i frogot to say THIS F&quot;ING ROCKS Edited by - DSQrn on 2/28/2005 5:33:49 PM

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_______________ i dont suffer fools gladly , in fact i dont suffer them at all

I caught a glimpse of this and I like what I see, although it feels a bit disconnected. No matter, I shall go back and read it thoroughly! <img src=smilies/icon_smile_big.gif width=15 height=15 border=0 align=middle> Edit: Damn! Nice work! More please. <img src=smilies/icon_smile.gif width=15 height=15 border=0 align=middle> Edited by - Hahukum Konn on 3/8/2005 2:39:38 PM

<i>Mysteries of night&#8230;escape the light of day&#8230;[i I open my eyes, slowly, peacefully, and look up into the eyes of God&#8212;millions of stars shining like so many white jewels tied to the curtain of night. I love the nights on this planet, early in the year. Every star sings in the joy of brotherhood, every light shines with purity and beauty never seen in the polluted skies of Liberty and Bretonia or under Kusari&#8217;s tropical heavens. The moon is beginning to wane, but light still flows from her fingertips, ricocheting and dancing around the mirrored ice glaciers surrounding us here. I look to my right, at Nikolai and Anja, another Blood Artist. Both are still meditating, but Nikolai bears a laughing smile on his face that makes me wonder at his sincerity&#8212;I think he only agreed to do this to laugh at me. Anja too is still in the state of meditation. I gaze at her, face illuminated by the moonlight, strands of deep black hair whipped around by the piercing wind. Cold and pale beauty&#8230; I rise, walk over to her, and quietly tap her on the shoulder. Her eyes open, to reveal pools of entrancing blue. She smiles, stands, and opens her mouth, moving closer towards me. &#8220;That was amazing,&#8221; Anja whispers in my ear. She plants a kiss on my cheek and smiles. &#8220;Was it your first time?&#8221; &#8220;Yes&#8230;I wish I had tried it earlier. It&#8217;s beautiful.&#8221; &#8220;I thought you would enjoy it.&#8221; I look down at Nikolai, asleep and hunched over on the icy shore, and turn back to Anja with a devilish smile playing about my lips. She watches as I walk down to the freezing ocean, filling my water bottle with its icy liquid&#8230;and walk back towards Nikolai. &#8220;SH*T!&#8221; He jumps up, soaked to the bone, as our laughter echoes into the night. I run up the glacier away from him as he chases after me, pelting blocks of snow forward as he bolts headlong after me. Nikolai is stronger, but I am faster. I easily outrun him and circle back to the shore, where Anja whips a chunk of frozen snow into the back of my head and pelts another at Nikolai, climbing down from the glacier. We collapse again on the shore, cold and riveted with laughter. I am in love with my friends, in love with the night, in love with the beauty of the universe that plays about my eyes Nikolai sits up, his bare chest shining in the moonlight. Now he is serious. &#8220;The Rebels say tomorrow will be the battle to end all wars. The final assault.&#8221; [iSo many will die&#8230;so many souls will be stained in blood that is not their own. </i> _______________________________________ <i>When Blood will flow&#8230;when flesh and steel are one Dying in the colour of an evening sun&#8230;Tomorrow&#8217;s rain will wash the stains away But something in our minds will always stay </i> Water pours down from the sky, upon a planet that has never felt the cool cleansing of a rainstorm, upon a society that with a slight breath will vanish into the cold corridors of time. The rain is pure and beautiful, shining like a thousand sparks in the Night. It falls upon the Academy of Blood Artists, upon the ice covered desert of Moskau, throughout the frozen forests of the planet, upon the cold steel of Imperium buildings in the capital. It falls on the heartless cement inside the heart of the empire. <i>On and on, the rain will fall&#8230; </i> We march down the avenues, the cold cement walkways of the Imperium. Rain falls around us, in the crowds of millions, sparkling diamonds among the Rhinelanders who are revolting. Streaks of pure glass descend from a crying sky, washing away this world of pain. The chains of our people begin to snap. &#8220;Power to the people!&#8221; we chant. Give us life! Wyrms dance through the sky, golden flames ripping open the engines of the Valkyrie machines as the dying screams of Imperial warriors fill the sky, echoing from raindrop to raindrop. Chilling cries echo in the upper clouds of night as bodies are ignited in fiery explosions. Blood mixes with the rainfall, but it is unfelt by the passionate souls that brew destruction upon the cold asphalt streets. <i>Like Tears from a star&#8230;. </i> In space above the planet, chaos erupts as warship after warship is burned into nothingness&#8212;a hundred thousand souls screaming out before fire rips through their carcasses&#8212;by the flames of time. Dragonbirds weave throughout the fighter defence launching missile after missile into the fray and turning the powerless guns of the Imperium fighters from their impenetrable armour. Like a wave of lightning, the ships soar into the melee and burn their enemies to smoke, ash, and ruin. The cold and frozen steel of the buildings burns beneath the fire of our torches and the flames of our wrath. Men, employees of the heartless empire, shriek as they and their ideologies are enveloped by passion-fuelled flames. Freedom! Cries the smoke that rises from their charred carcasses. Liberty! Chants the wild rain, pouring down endlessly upon a world drenched in sin. <i>On and on, the rain will see&#8230;How Fragile we are... </i> And as I passionately kiss Nikolai on the breaking asphalt, feeling his beautiful body pressing against mine&#8230;as the Imperium is engulfed by the sands of time, its clockwork winding down, and its candle burning out in the winds&#8230;as passion burns within my chest, and as a planet scarred in blood washes it off into the icy Ocean of Sighs.. A blood red flower blooms, drenched in the eternal Rain. <i>How Fragile we are. </i> Edited by - Wilde on 3/9/2005 4:50:54 AM